I don’t know how she does it.

My sister has a green thumb the likes of which I have not often seen.

She can grow just about anything.  Despite the fact that she lives in the part of this country where summer can quickly turn into winter and sunshine into rain or hail or worse.  The growing season there is short.  And still she works miracles.  Her dahlias which are actually annuals, she digs up and stores away and puts them back in the ground ‘next year’.  Her dahlias could win awards for the size of them.  I planted some this spring.  They are two feet high, spindly, most pathetic looking and nary a bud to be found.  I am hopeful.  Not sure that is entirely practical or realistic.  Nevertheless, hope is buried deep within me and I am watching eagerly for the first sign of flower life.

The flower thing is annoying to me but I manage to keep discouragement at bay.  There is however, another plant that will not produce anything but the odd minute stalk in my garden.

Rhubarb!

Now, I have been told, mostly by this sister and our mother that rhubarb is very easy to grow.  It is apparently somewhat like a weed and can become a nuisance as it ‘takes over’.   It is perennial and comes back year after year, bigger and more ‘fruitful’ (pun intended)

At first I believed these girls and set out to grow my own.  As a matter of fact, my aunt generously dug up a beautiful piece of her own rhubarb plant and tossed it in a bucket and I, with great anticipation drove it to the perfect spot  and planted it the best I could and then

waited.

I suspected after two years of waiting that perhaps, I had a problem.  Then, dear Nano shared some very important information with me.  You must keep it well watered and free from weeds and other plant life that might creep into it’s space.  This news  would have been valuable two years earlier and I realized that easy to grow  should come with a  disclaimer, if you know what you are doing and follow a few simple but very important rules.  Needless to say, I did the only thing left to do.  I gave up!  I quit!  Tossed in the towel!  I don’t really like rhubarb anyway.

Yes, I resorted to lying to myself so I would feel a bit better about my poor gardening skills.

The truth is, I love beautiful gardens.  I could sit and look at a bed of flowers for minutes on end.  Here though, is the crux of the matter.  I dislike (not quite strong enough) gardenING. This sister has told me several times that she loves to dig in the dirt and plant and nurture what she sees growing.  Her garden is proof that what she says must be true.  You surely would not spend all of those evenings and mornings working and cultivating and pulling and watering if you couldn’t stand doing it.  Surely.

So we have established that my rhubarb (and other) growing skills are lacking and yet I  so appreciate the bounty that comes from the hard work of others.  That is one reason I like to visit a market.  Whether it be Granville Island in Vancouver, or St. Lawrence, just down the road and around the corner and past a few other streets, from me.  I like to stop at small farm stands along the roads I travel and am thankful for the hours of toil these farmer/gardener folk commit to.  Theirs is a hard, without much financial reward, kind of life.  Some of them do it because their grandfather before them and then their father, did it.  The land is part of them and they could not  consider doing anything else.   Growing is serious business to these people.

I am thankful for them.  I am thankful for what they produce.

Interesting word.

One of those in our english language that is a verb as well as a noun.  

I commend them for their ability to produce produce.

For a time, when I was a wee lass, I lived in a community of farmers.  Regularly we, the preacher and his family, were presented with gifts of fresh vegetables and honey and chickens and I remember that time in my life.  It is as vivid today as it was all those years ago.  Cold winters and windy, sunny summers.  Full of growing and hard work, picking and “putting up”.

We didn’t have much  but we were content with what we had.  It was all delicious.  I think one reason I find cooking such a joyous thing to do is because of the freshness I get to do it with.  There are not many things we cannot find if we decide to created something delectable.

So back to the beginning of this tale of discouragement.

Rhubarb

I went to the market a couple of days ago and looked and pondered and considered and picked up a few things and decided as I did all of this, what I would make for our guests last night.  I know it is not a terribly efficient way to prepare to cook but that’s how I often do it.  I like to see what’s out there.  At times I stumble upon an ingredient that becomes the main event and I hadn’t even considered it.

So what I am getting to now is, I stumbled upon a package of rhubarb.

The leaves were gone and it looked nothing like that in my sisters garden.  My mouth began to water.  Rhubarb is funny like that.  When I look at it I start to get the krinkles in that spot in my mouth where the sour taste buds are.  I saw the rhubarb and I saw the fresh Ontario Strawberries and there it was.  Dessert!  I only needed to decide what form this strawberry and Rhubarb dessert would take.

I brought it home and washed it and set it aside and carried on.  The next day it hit me.

Vanilla maple rhubarb with ice cream and strawberries.  Add to that some fresh cookies, a dark chocolate on the saucer and there you have it.

I hope you will enjoy this easy, delicious dessert.  Try it!  Simple sometimes brings more pleasure than the complicated.

Peach and Tomato!

And why in the world not?  I have been checking around and reading some reputable sources which say…

Tomatoes are the fruit of the tomato plant and are used as a vegetable, or , in vegetable dishes.  All of that to say, I sometimes put tomatoes along with fruit in salads.

A couple of weeks ago I did just that.  The result was delicious but I made a little too much.  I placed the leftovers in a dish, topped it with a lid and stored it away in the fridge.  Remember I mentioned the leftover Beef Tenderloin I ended up using for a group of special friends?   You won’t believe how brazen I was, to make a hot dish from leftover salad.  I figure it is no different from buying ingredients that have already been put together at a store ( who knows how many days ahead that is) and then you bring them home and add them to something you are preparing.)

I decided after but a moment, that it would be okay to recycle as long as it was amazing and delicious and produced a smile of enjoyment.

So if you go to the Tomato, Basil, Feta and PEACH recipe you will find the first dish

And if you then go to the gemelli e altri ingredienti you will see what I did with it, two days later.

Those seagulls are at it, still.  Day and night they call and cry and search and find and feast. Such unruly creatures.  Somewhat like a certain elite group of inhabitants of this town on the east coast of Scotland in the kingdom of Fife.  Not all of the inhabitants.   I am told the number of students in this place make up one third of the population, during the school year.  This week ahead, we leave at the beginning, will be full of revelry and celebration, by students and their families. It’s graduation week here at Saint Andrews.  Not a favorite week for our hosts.   Of course, these students have worked hard and are deserving of attention and some loosening of ties and collars.  Perhaps the ones  on the other side of this fence could have waited just a few more days before beginning their festivities.  At least the after midnight ones.  Their joyful voices combined with those of our feathered friends made for a choir I have not much taste for or interest in at 1:00 in the morning.  Our host mentioned the other day with rolled eyes, that we live in the middle of a university campus and must deal with all of the trappings that accompany it.  I have not spent much time in the midst of a university town with all of it’s goings on.  Interesting indeed.  

Having begun this story with a bit of a negative tone, I can assure you that these, noisy creatures of both the human and feathered kinds, have not dampened my fondness for their cathedral city.  I wondered today as I wandered one last time, what it would be like to visit a little more often.  I was happy at the thought.  I like it here.  Very much.  Saint Andrews, Fife and I got on famously.  

Quaint, mixed with modern.  

Cream teas next door to fine steak and the latest in beet and goat cheese salad.  Interesting how trends move quickly to different locales around the world.  Bread with balsamic and olive oil, or if you prefer, little rounds of hard butter.  Of course a restaurant worth it’s salt would never serve soft butter.  Where ever in the world it is located.  Perish the thought.  Pesto, goat cheese, beets, fig and stilton, chocolate mousse and let’s not forget the different flavors of gelato.  It’s all here,  In this wee town.  Saint Andrews might look modest but I can assure you it is mighty in stature.  The beauty of it’s ancient buildings as well as the surrounding countryside is breathtaking, awe inspiring, charming.  In a word, lovely.   A favorite destination of mine.  Invite me back, anytime.  

I have walked the streets, up and down and crosswise, every one of the four full days we have been here.  

It is new and fresh every time.

 The sea walk is just minutes from the commercial streets.  Today I wandered for several hours and could have carried on except for the blisters that appeared on the tops of my feet (of all places) where my sandals rubbed from the hiking up and down and back and forth.  Church bells ring out the hour, every hour.  People are friendly and helpful and there is a small town atmosphere here.  The languages spoken around me are many and varied.  I have played a game quietly, asking myself what language I was listening to at any given time.  Next to me in the breakfast room of this lovely

Aslar House ,

there were two tables, each with a father and son.  One set from the czech republic and the other, I am not certain but would say somewhere in scandinavia.  Norway.  It is especially fun to guess, American vs. Canadian.  I am quite good at that one.

 So, this morning, after breakfast, I asked our hosts how they would feel about my mentioning them on this blog.  They kindly said “of course”.  “Sure”.  I told them I do this for fun and also to share, thoughts and pictures.  (I didn’t mention the recipe part)  These hosts are Stan and Mary and they are great at what they do.  This is not a forever kind of life for them.  In the past they worked in a family business.  In Edinburgh.  They have owned and operated this guest house for a few years and now it is for sale.  They keep it spotless and as they do that, converse with their guests in a friendly and hospitable way. They both work on putting clean linens on beds and serving breakfast to the guests.  Both Stan and Mary have a wonderful sense of humour  and in the past days we have shared a few laughs.  Mary is another recent acquaintance I am quite sure would help me laugh on a regular basis if we were neighbors or rubbed shoulders every once in awhile.  But of course we aren’t and we don’t.  

Yesterday I asked if there was a place for me to do a load of laundry.  Yes, we go home tomorrow but why take a suitcase full of dirty laundry if you can take a suitcase full of clean clothes?  I ask!  Mary kindly suggested I might want to do my laundry in the ‘house’ machines and even left ‘pegs’ for me to hang it all outside after washing.  I did not take the time for that but was happy to use her machines.  I went for my morning walk, which I will tell you about shortly, and when I returned, found this note on the dresser in our perfectly clean room.  Ironed pillowcases included.  Yes, a girl after my own (and Nano‘s) heart.  I had a laugh at the comment and was appreciative of her offer.    Hospitality!  It’s a very good thing. 

Stan and Mary  don’t know that hospitality happens to be near and dear to my heart.  I spot it a long way off and am drawn to it in others.  What can ever be the harm in being friendly?  It is quite lovely to share experiences and a quick smile or a laugh, although the two paths will in all likelihood never cross again.  It takes effort I suppose and this may be the excuse some would use.  

Anything worth doing is worth effort, I say.  It’s entirely possible someone famous, one of our forefathers or a remarkable school teacher or psychologist has said it before me. Nonetheless, I like it and will say it again.  When it pops into my mind.  

So Stan and Mary have shared their spotlessly clean, well appointed, reasonably priced, guest house with us and I would encourage you, if St. Andrews has never been a destination on your bucket list, to add it.  

It is a special place full of all kinds of beauty to behold and nice people to experience.

Thank you Stan and Mary!  You have made our visit even more memorable.  

Your Aslar Guest house has been a lovely Home away! 

Well I’m going to admit it.  Sometimes I use leftovers to create something new and fresh.  It’s not that I’m lazy or can’t be bothered to start from scratch.  There are occasions though,  when I have some great options just waiting for  creative ideas.

This was the case last week when I had a couple of get togethers in my home.  One on Sunday and the other on Tuesday.  I tend to go a bit overboard on amounts because I don’t like having just two spoonfuls left on a plate.  Especially if the plate is sitting on a table surrounded by special guests.  Nobody wants to take the last piece of meat or the final spoonful of potatoes.  So where does that leave me?  With leftovers sitting in my fridge.

On that Sunday night I had barbecued a large beef tenderloin for 8 people.  I ended up, after everyone had helped themselves to seconds, with a piece about 8 inches long and the same around.  I wrapped it up and put it away, wondering what in the world I would do with it.  Rob was going to be away and in two days I was hosting yet another dinner.  This one would bring 10 ladies to my table and the atmosphere would be completely different.  Whereas the Sunday event was pleasant and a few laughs were had, the second one would be loud and laughter would fill that room.  We are friends, comfortable with each other. Conversation would be easy and pleasantries would  be replaced with the fun of  being together.  Around that dining room table.  It wasn’t about the table mind you.  It was about those who sat in the chairs down the sides and at the ends.  It was about the conversation . The hospitality shared.  Delightful!

Someone asked me the week before what I planned to serve that night.  It was a birthday celebration and the meal needed to be special.    I answered that I had no idea at all but would decide at some point before the evening of,  since I would need to buy groceries and pull it together.

That Tuesday morning I got out of bed early and took myself to market.  St. Lawrence market, which is quickly becoming a favorite destination for grocery shopping .  I walked into that building and went straight to the meat counter.  It had come to me sometime during the course of the night before that I would make a pasta dish with chicken and sauteed mushrooms and a few other ingredients (recipe to follow.  Maybe tomorrow)  I would also do a tossed salad with strawberries and mango and fig dressing and…

I needed a third dish because we all know three food platters on a table or sideboard look better than two, don’t we?  It dawned on me as I paid for the chicken that there was some delicious tenderloin in the fridge from Sunday night and then I spotted the fresh asparagus and a recipe was born.  Just like that.  Tenderloin with asparagus and tossed in a lemon dressing.  Now, you can call me crazy but  I basically make things up as I go along.   Although this recipe I’m sharing is extremely simple, you could be creative with it.  It could be served hot or cold.  You could serve it with sauteed mushrooms.  You could add diced sweet onion or green onion.  However, the meat is so delicious on it’s own that I didn’t want to cover the flavor or make it too complicated.  On the day of the barbecuing I had made a rub for that tenderloin.

I should also ensure you of this.  On that Tuesday evening I told those ladies exactly what I had done.  Full disclosure!  I chuckled and they looked at me as if I was a bit kooky.  But they already know I am,  so this came as no surprise.  They liked it a lot and it was pretty good considering it was created on the fly and from leftover meat.  Why not?  Waste not want not!

It was a rip roaring fun evening and our guest of honor knew she was loved by the time she had helped clean up the dishes and left for home.  I think pretty much everyone at that table knew they were loved, including me.  Oh yes, we all worked on cleanup together and it was a blast and it was amazing and it was a great way to end.

The talk was uplifting and the chairs were full.

It was a good party.

The best kind of party.  Where everyone goes home with a smile and can’t get to sleep because they are too busy remembering.

Here we are, in a corner of the World far from our own.

 The money is an interesting shape and the values of that money are different from ours.   The language is the same.  It requires a more listening ear and a certain caution when asking questions.  Even where words are similar there can be differences in meaning.  

There are coffee shops, pastry and bakery cafes, Every block has one or more eating establishments where you can get your fill or just a few bites.

So many flaky, delicious temptations that I choose to savor, while the chance to do so is right in front of me.  

Beauty for the senses is in front and behind.

I walked along one of the three streets designed for shopping and eating and meandering and looking.  Suddenly, on the breeze I smelled the sea and remembered I was but a stone wall or two away.

There are gardens behind wrought iron gates and surrounded by stone walls.  The pathways are dotted with benches meant for resting just a moment, as you stroll.

There are churches.  Many.  They have their own gardens and grass that is rich and green.  So it is in this land where rain is more frequent than sunshine.

Back here, at this place called Aslar House, we are hosted by Stan and Mary and made to feel at home.

I wind my way to the third floor.  To the turret suite.  It is not fancy but clean and comfortable.  I prefer this to large hotels where there is air conditioning blowing all over and the ambiance is almost as cold.  The views from this guest house are not of the sea but of old rooftops and backyard gardens.  Quaint and lovely.

There are seagulls outside this window and they are calling and crying and I can’t tell if they are happy or annoyed. Perhaps they are unaware of how they sound. Quite rude and disrespectful of the beauty.   From here I can see no less than 12 chimneys and picture these buildings as homes three hundred years ago.  Smoke from fireplaces rolling from the stacks. This is one reason why I am so taken with this place.  The history.  There are church bells ringing and then again.

The beauty is great.  Old meeting new.  Idyllic really.  A remembrance of decades, no, centuries past.